Read by Paul Clarke
My sign was the pestle and mortar. My knowledge was roots and seeds, vines and leaves, bulbs and berries. I was a grinder, a blender, a crusher, a mulcher; I was a master of tubers. I mixed the tinctures and measured the powders that might cure or kill. (A single grain may be the difference between health and death.) Mine was a calling. A position of trust. I was the court’s poisoner.
Continue reading "An account of six poisonings by Nichol Wilmor" »
Read by Tony Bell
It’s still snowing, but a thaw has set in sometime during the night. Sometimes it’s hard to know when things change; that precise moment when the tide turns, or the season passes from autumn into winter; when the slope you are on tips from being in your favour to against it.
Continue reading "Wheel ruts in the snow by Brindley Hallam Dennis" »
Read by Ben Crystal
Feel the weirdness. Odd.
In 2029 travelled back to 1926.
My machine is big.
In 2034 I travelled back again to 1926.
Nothing much had changed.
It was the year of the first truly waterproof wristwatch.
Oh.
The machine was getting larger. That’s how I kept my own time: by the growing bulk of the machine. It never shrank, but always grew each trip.
I could be wrong. It’s hard to tell.
Continue reading "West Buckinghamshire by Joshan Esfandiari-Martin" »
Read by Jennifer Tan
The sun rose over the Vale of York and in the village of Easingwold farmers awoke and made their way to the fields at first light. It was the eve of market day and by sundown the last of the meat was to be slaughtered and portioned, the ripe fruit harvested and the wool spun, dyed and bundled.
Read by Elizabeth Bower
It’s Lionel Levett who releases the bull, unhitching the hasp from the ring through its nose. He watches it slip between the wooden boards of the stall and into the street, smooth as a ship launching. As it sails past he reaches up to douse its wide, warm flank with a splash of lemonade from the glass bottle in his hand.
